Ed at the Baby Shower

"Oh God, not another freaking game, wasn't pin the sperm on the egg bad enough?" Now they were going to play some dirty diaper game. He couldn't keep his disgust to himself any longer. He groaned when Sheila came out of the kitchen with the basket full of freshly microwaved diapers. The ladies cackled at him, his visible discomfort was clearly their chosen entertainment for the afternoon. "C'mon Ed, you might be good at this one" they heckled. Where the hell was Charlie anyway? Beth told him he would be there, he never would have agreed to tag along to this thing otherwise. In the last 90 minutes he had seen things that no man should ever see. The opening of the gifts unveiled items that he could go the rest of his life without knowing they ever existed. The breast pump was bad enough, but the pregnancy belly painting kit and the gift certificate for the naked pregnancy photo shoot was over the top. Beth explained to him on the way there that this was Kate's first baby so the ladies would go out of their way to outdo each other when it came to gifts. Beth at least had stuck with a more traditional diaper bag filled with newborn necessities. And the pink! The living room was plastered in it, pink streamers, pink table cloth, pink napkins, pink plates; even the damn cake and ice cream were pink. Every article of clothing this unborn child received was some hideous shade of pink. He secretly hoped that the ultrasound was wrong and it turned out to be a boy. He could only imagine the look on Charlie's face when his boy came home dressed in those pansy girl clothes.

"Ok, so each diaper has a different candy bar melted into it. We have to guess what each one is." Sheila now had the waded up diapers arranged on the coffee table. Each lady had been given small pieces of pink papers and a pink pencil to write down their answer. Sheila peeled the tape back on the first diaper, she pulled it open reveling a gooey brown mess of chocolate. The ladies hovered in around it taking a closer look. Ed stood with his back against a wall, arms folding in front of him. When the hens sat back down to write their guesses he took a look at the diaper. There was a chunky light brown mess in the middle of the pool of melted chocolate. As he leaned in closer the smell gave it away, this one was easy - Recess Peanut Butter cups. Sheila gathered up the first round of pink papers from the group. "Really, no one got this one? Any other guesses?" A few ladies shouted out random names of candy above each other, none of them were close. "Ridiculous" Ed muttered under his breath, then loud enough for all to hear "Its Recess Peanut Butter cups!" The entire group turned in unison to stare at Ed, Sheila bounded across the coffee table shoving slips of pink paper and a pencil at him. "We have a contender" she announced. Ed didn't get the chance to weasel his way out of playing; Sheila already had the second diaper open. He tipped forward peering over his competitors. This one had a pool of white goo in the middle of the dark chocolate. He scrawled the words "York Peppermint Patty" across the pink paper. Again Sheila gathered the slips of paper, with a puzzled look on her face she turned back to the group. "Well, Ed wins this one on a technicality - he was the only one that said it was a 'York' Peppermint Patty." A few of the ladies turned to look at Ed who just shrugged his shoulders. The game went on, Milky Way, Snickers, Mars Bar, 3 Musketeers and the super easy Baby Ruth. With each round the ladies became more subdued, Ed guessed right in every round, he could not be beat. Side conversations were occurring in between rounds, clearly the ladies were losing interest in the game.

At the end of the 8th round Sheila stood at the end of the coffee table to announced the winner. "By a landslide, Ed" she begrudgingly reported as she handed him a box wrapped in pink paper. Ed held the package in his hands looking to Beth for guidance. She gave him the nod that it was ok to open it. Ed ripped the paper off, reveling a pink box with a floral print. Popping open the box he reached in to lift out a coffee cup painted int he same flowery pattern as the brightly colored box. Ed held the trophy up for all to see, then placed it back in the box with a shrug of his shoulders.


The prompt for this story was a picture of a gruff looking man with a construction hard hat and a large wrench in his hand. The prompt was to write about him at a baby shower. Ed just jumped out at me and asked me to write about him. Since writing this piece for class I've let my mind wander and I wondered why in the world would Ed agree to accompany his wife to a baby shower. So I asked Ed who told me that Beth had miscarried in the last year and their marriage counselor had suggested that he be there to support Beth. Ed would do anything for Beth. Yes - my characters speak to me. I've heard writers talk about this and I'm still not sure if I need medication or if I am a writer. For now I will just put my characters stories on paper to get them out of my head. Either way I like Ed, he is gruff on the outside, but is just a big teddy bear on the inside. I wonder if he is going to bring that new coffee cup to work on Monday?

Taste

The wall at the top of the stairwell flashed between orange and white as his shadow danced in the flames coming off the sauté pan. With one smooth turn of the wrist he sent the pan into a fit of spitting hisses splashing the white wine across the hot butter. The pungent odor of garlic hit her nose and called her to creep down the hall. She stood at the top of the small stairwell peering down into the kitchen. He stood with his back to her holding the sauté pan a few inches off the gas burner. Flames burst and dance from the pan as he swirled the burning alcohol towards the edges. She watched in awe as the fire jumped dangerously close to his face but never touched him. He seemed to always know just where the flame was going, moving with it but never into it. “Good Night” called a voice from behind her. The last diner of the evening was pulling his on coat as he walked out the door. “Good Night” she called back, leaving the stairwell to lock the door behind the customer. As she turned the sign on the door to “CLOSED” she knew that this meant only one thing; the dish he was preparing was just for her. Her hours of envying others would soon come to an end. Tiptoeing back to the stairs she heard the whoosh of the pan as he poured in the heavy cream. A plume of white steam rose above the bubbling white liquid. Leaving the pan to simmer he turned around to gather ingredients from the prep line behind him. She stepped back into the hallway, pressing herself against the wall. She wasn’t ready for him to know just how memorizing she found his cooking to be. A white plate with a damp linen cloth draped across the appeared from the prep cooler. Curiosity got the better of her as she leaned in closer to the kitchen. Fresh fettuccini just for her; not even the VIP diners were treated to this.

She scurried back down the hall to the pantry to busy herself with her closing chores. One last wipe of the salad station with the bleach rag and she could call it a night. Her stomach fluttered as she threw the bleach rag into the bucket, she would casually take the laundry down to the kitchen. It would only be her 11^th trip of the evening, she always made sure to have something in her hands assuring herself that each trip through his kitchen was work related. The morning shift was often pleased with how well she left the pantry stocked for them, if only they knew. Keeping her eyes at her feet she carried the bucket with both hands down the stairs. The industrial dishwasher lugged into action spraying jets of water as he shoved the last load of pots and pans in. Juan the dishwasher had been sent home an hour before, they were now here alone.

The plate of pasta sat at the end of the prep line, steam rising off the hot cream sauce.  Next to it a neatly folded blue linen napkin from the dining room, a dinner fork and soup spoon had been placed on top of the napkin. An old bar stool from the kitchen staff smoking area sat empty in front of the prep line. She kept one eye on the plate as she turned the corner, heading out the back door towards the washing machine. She intentionally slowed down her actions while loading the bleach rags into the wash. The pasta dish was too hot; she had made that mistake before. It needed just a few more minutes to settle to allow all the flavors to hit just the right temperature. After folding the linens from the dryer she made her way back through the kitchen door. He was bent over the 8 burner gas range scrubbing away the spills from the busy dinner rush. “Um, is this for me?” she sheepishly asked while standing next to the bar stool. “Only if you want it to be?” he answered without looking up from his work.

Hopping onto the barstool she paused for a moment, taking in the plate. The meal before her was a piece of art. The white linguine and cream sauce were accented by yellow, orange and bell peppers. Small bite sized pieces of rosemary chicken were buried within the pasta like treasure waiting to be found, an accent of chopped parsley had been sprinkled along the perimeter of the oval plate adding just the right amount of color.  She delicately twisted the fork into the pasta, being sure to intertwine a a few morsels of pepper and chicken into the first bite.   She could not help but to close her eyes as the pasta hit her tongue. The silky cream sauce coated her mouth bringing with it an explosion of flavors from the ingredients throughout the dish. The pasta was perfectly aldente. Rosemary from the chicken complemented the cream sauce, followed by a hint of heat; another spice she couldn’t quite put her finger on. That first bite seemed to last an eternity, she took a deep breath opening her eyes. He was staring right at her. She felt the rush of warmth run up her neck into her face as she turned bright red. She could have kicked herself for losing herself in front of him like that. “You don’t like it?” he asked with a playful grin. “No, actually, I love it! Thank you” the words seemed to stumble over each other on the way out of her mouth. The smile remained as he turned from her to go back to his work, always keeping himself busy when she was around.  She continued to watch him as she dove deeper into each bite. Would she ever be able to act normal around him? Did he have any idea how stupid he made her? One thing she was sure of, she could not live the rest of her live without his cooking. Somehow she would pull through her insecurity and make him hers.

The prompt for this story was "Taste". In class we read Marcel Proust's "The Cookie" where he describes his experience with a petite Madeleine. Our assignment was to write something with taste. I immediately thought of the time in my life where everything I knew that was related to taste was blown out of the water. I met my husband while working in a fine dining restaurant the summer after high school. He won me over with his charm, his long grunge rock hair and his amazing pasta with cream sauce. In our home food is love.